


(More Than) Partners

by 13thSyndicate



Series: your hearts are tangled up [1]
Category: Final Fantasy, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Cleon, Cloud-typical angst, Fluff, M/M, Multiple Pov, Okay so a friend dared me to write Cleon, but not lots, canon-friendly, second person writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7194329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13thSyndicate/pseuds/13thSyndicate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes love isn't a thing that needs to be spoken out loud.</p><p>Sometimes it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Partners

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wresie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wresie/gifts), [AzureDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureDreams/gifts).



> So a friend of mine, @wresie, was complaining about how little Cleon fluff there was and how hard a time she was having finding Cleon stories that weren't smutty. I have a project where I write a 1-3 page scene every day, and so this story was born.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cloud understands that sometimes, you don't need to say something that's already understood.

Sometimes, love isn't a thing that needs to be spoken out loud.

It isn't a thing that's shouted on the wind or whispered in the night. It isn't a thing that requires kissing, hugging, touching, _more_ \- sometimes, it is a thing that simply exists, suspended between two people, passed between them in a glance, a smirk, a roll of the eyes, a flick of the wrist.

It is in the dance.

You hear a call - 'Move!' - and then they're on you, black, terrifying, with a cold that sucks and tears at the bonds between you, your homeworld (long gone), the partner behind you, the blade in your hand, and the tentative spark that glistens inside. A sweep of the oversized blade, a whoosh and rush of darkness and cold that somehow empowers and strengthens the feel of something that tugs at that spark, pulling it towards the sudden warmth at your back as he's there, holding you up, not propping but simply affirming your own strength.

A sarcastic remark. You smirk, chuckle, shake your head. He tosses his hair - you can see it in your mind's eye - and then the blades are arcing, scything, rending through flesh-that-isn't and sending gleaming hearts back to rejoin their source, empowered by a smaller, stronger light somewhere on the battlefield, one that blinds, washes out the tiny spark inside you.

The light behind you, though... that light has never felt overwhelming.

There are hundreds of small shadows before and above and all around you but you aren't afraid. The dance, the words that pass between you, they feed into the invisible strings that tie the two of you together until you're choking with the power of it, a power you swore to yourself, you would never feel again. Ties that bind and wrap around and at the beginning you pulled away, yelling, screaming, fighting, pushing away, and yet... yet... you can't bring yourself to fight them anymore. Because they also comfort. They also bring joy, whatever sadness happens when they're severed too soon.

Soon enough the battle ends. The brilliant light has won this battle, and your shadow-dimmed spark can rest. The sword in your hands has long ceased to feel heavy, but it feels nice to lay it down. The one behind you, the one whom your awareness of has never waned, also lays his weapon aside, resting it against his shoulder and turning towards you.

Love isn't always something that needs to be spoken. It's transmitted through the clap on your shoulder before he walks back to the city, the small nod and smile you give him that you wouldn't give anyone else.

One never wonders if he feels the same way. Both of you are far too proud to say a thing, but it's in the little things, in the small interactions, a glance, a moment, things others wouldn't even notice are even out of character for the two of you. But you notice.

The moment passes. You go on your separate ways. Searching for pockets of darkness to root out, him going to celebrate victory, you going off on your own because celebration doesn't suit.

Maybe later tonight you'll find each other again. Sit in silence - because love doesn't need words when it exists between partners.


	2. More Than Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon understands that sometimes, you have to say it out loud.

Sometimes, love is a thing that needs to be spoken aloud.

Sometimes, love needs to be shouted from the rooftops, screamed, exulted in the daytime; sometimes it needs to be whispered softly, breathed into the darkness, taken by the hand and pulled into the real world, defined for all involved to see.

Standing in the ruined bailey, watching him sit there holding his heart, you understand this. You have lost too much, hurt too much, shut too much out, to not see the danger he is in, a person who started as an annoying visitor to your world sent by the spiky-haired kid and ended up as a partner you've come to trust, to understand. To... more.

He stares off the wall like he's staring into an abyss and you watch him for a moment, wondering what exactly you're going to do, what exactly you're going to say. You understand the need to say something, now, but words have never been your strong suit. Words that aren't insults, anyway, words that heal wounds instead of cause them. Aerith's better at that, always has been, but Aerith is the last person who needs to be helping your partner sort through his inner darkness.

He asks, after a moment, if he is a monster, if the one who represents everything evil he's ever fought was right about him. You're the only one he can ask - he holds the stoic, emotionless shroud around himself in the presence of anyone else. Aerith says that it's because you're the only one he trusts. You hope so.

You go to sit next to him, two men, two partners, staring into the abyss of bad memories together, and tell him that it's all bullshit.

You tell him that you trust him, that you've seen monsters and he isn't one of them. You've told him that the real monsters aren't the ones who sit around moping about whether they're monsters or not. You touch the scar on your face, which itches today, and tell him that the real monsters are the ones who are so convinced that what they're doing is right that they don't stop to think about the cost.

He looks at you, eerie eyes creased in a frown that's deeper than usual. He doesn't ask - you've always been good at communicating without talking.

He mentions this is some of the most words you've strung together at him at one time. You laugh at that. But you've learned to recognize when it's time to talk, and when it's time to stay silent.

The ruins are empty today. The kid's gone on to other worlds. Yuffie's off to worlds-know-where, Aerith is back at Merlin's, tending to the mysterious woman that he's been avoiding and trying not to let anyone realize he's doing so. You're alone. It's often this way, when you don't have other duties. Yuffie makes a big stink about wondering where you've gone, but everyone has been noticing lately that you and he often go missing at the same times nowadays.

You put a hand on his shoulder and wihs you were better at saying words.

'You're more than my partner,' you say, but it doesn't quite sound right. All the training that both of you have had in protection your emotions from the world that's done everything it can to harm them is getting in the way now, but the way he goes perfectly still under your hand tells you he understands what you're trying to say.

You're not the sort for holding hands, grand gestures, things that a person your age might normally use to express themselves. You had to grow up too young, too fast, too much for that. Sometimes it's hard to even remember how old or young you are - too many birthdays lost in the struggle to reclaim what's yours.

That struggle taught you one thing, though. You won't lose anything ever again.

You slide over, closing the gap between you, until your sides are touching. Instead of simply putting your hand on his shoulder, your arm wraps around his back, to rest on his opposite shoulder, pulling him a little closer, as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

He looks at you. Startled, for a moment.

'More than partners,' you repeat.

'More than partners,' he says, and relaxes for what must be the first time in days.


End file.
